Identity
by The Mad Aristocrat
Summary: One shot:  His mind was focused elsewhere, everything else was only a distraction as he continued on his way, almost mechanically, his piercing eyes locked on the man before him. A strange encounter leads a man to consider thoughts he never dared before.


The figure stood, drenched in the shadows of the room. Light filtered in through high windows, weakened by the dust and grime caked on the glass after so many years of neglect, and pooled gently on the ground before him, like a fragile spotlight, inviting him to step in. Gradually, with more of a habitual pensiveness about his movements rather than caution he moved forward, entering the light as dust tossed about his feet and settled, only to be disturbed again with his next step. A brief flash of his pale features glowed in the dark, but it remained only a flash. Rather than stop to linger he glided coolly past the feeble light, dismissing it without a second thought. His mind was focused elsewhere, everything else was only a distraction as he continued on his way, almost mechanically, his piercing eyes locked on the man before him.

Finally his steps came to a halt, the black boots that he wore stirring up wisps of gray for the last time on his short physical journey. Standing in front of this man he showed no emotion, no interest even, and his gaze filled with its usual semblance of narcissistic superiority. That was enough, most of the time, to drive an encounter to violence or a pleading death but the other set of eyes stared back. They were almost identical to his own, but not quite what he remembered in his own eyes, and they peered back at him in the same way, almost daring him to come closer. So he did.

His hair flowed behind him gently as he took another few steps forward, ending only inches from the man before him. The other man, too, had moved forward, as if to meet him on equal ground. When he stopped moving so did the other, and a quiet stillness fell over them again, a strange tenseness filling the air at this meeting. His counterpart, staring back at him with an arrogance that normally filled his own demeanor, the man lifted his hand. As he did so the other before him brought his black, gloved hand to his face, moving long, silver strands away from his eyes. For the first time the observer was slightly taken-aback, as the man he encountered continued to look at him. There was an eerie hunger in his eyes that, although he knew wasn't directed at him, still managed to pique his curiosity.

Never before had he been so interested about someone's eyes and he leaned forward, the stranger doing the same. The man noted, as the other traced his gloved hand away from his hair and down the side of his face, that these were the eyes of a mad man. The green orbs were beautiful enough in their own right, their feline pupils affording an almost exotic air about them, but they were set into a cold, psychotic face. Dark rings representing anything but fatigue fell beneath his eyes, caressing them possessively. His brows arched above them and his high cheeks, discolored in places with fine soot, scrunched gracefully as his lips curled in a smirk.

That black hand of his trailed further down his face, resting briefly on one of the dark blotches that lingered on his porcelain skin, then continued down to the smirking corner of his mouth. As his fingers glided the black ash followed briefly, smudging across his features like some honored badge of inhumanity. His fingertips barely graced the edge of his mouth with their presence before they stopped, hovering there as if waiting for the man's gaze to continue their guided progress.

His lips were normal if taken out of context but on this man they seemed, tainted, stained almost, with years of malicious deeds. Very likely he had stood there smiling with those blasphemous lips, much in the same way as he did now, while his psychotic eyes watched with pleasure the terrible work of his black hands, breaking, hacking, maiming, _burning_ anyone and anything that stood in his path. Destruction plagued his body, festered in his soul and, as he leaned away from the man, allowing a manic laugh to escape from his throat, it would seem to any observer that he thoroughly enjoyed what he did.

The man took a step back; enabling himself to take a look at the rest of the other, even in such close proximity of him. His leather garb was dusted with the same soot that blemished his skin. As he stared distinctly at the ash the other's hand, the one that before had been idle by his side, twitched. He had not used this one to trace his features but it was obvious that this was his favored hand, the one with which he wrought most all of his merciless deeds upon all who crossed his path.

The voice in his head caused the other to stir again, although this time it was not his hand. He looked to the side and up, as if responding in silence to some unseen force before he looked back to the man, smiling crookedly at him as his eyes continued to shift every once in a while, falling in an out of the deeper levels of his insanity. The man regarded him carefully, taking in the twisted being through his own demented eyes. For a few long moments he considered what he thought of this man before him, but the longer he lingered on these thoughts, the stronger his will to embrace the existence of such a man became, even if, in the pit of his stomach, the slightest flicker of doubt still existed. Just like his counterpart there was a voice that spoke in his head, but this time a strange urging rose up from within him. He lurched forward slightly and looked at him for only a little while longer before raising his arm, mimicking the actions that the other man had taken as well, and extended his lax fingers ever so slightly to connect with him.

His fingertips met with glass that would be cold if his digits were not covered in black leather gloves. The man stood straight, not moving his hand, and smirked strangely before taking a step back. Another step followed, and yet another, until he was a good distance away from where he stood before, almost halfway between the glass and the light. His eyes snapped up and to the side again for a moment before they flicked back to where they had focused last. His gait shifted just slightly before he parted his tainted lips. He spoke lowly as if meant for only him to hear, even though the echo in that empty cavern of a place carried his velveteen voice into even the most remote, forgotten corners where no life seemed to breathe.

"…I am."

His statement was isolated, as if torn away from the flooded recesses of his grotesque mind to stand alone as the one glimpse that he would allow into his perverse heart. The words lingered in dirty air for a little while longer, repeating themselves over and over as they retreated from he who released them. Soon they were gone, left only to continue on in his head after they had vanished from all existence beyond time and memory.

With this he closed his eyes briefly for the first time since this strange event began and his foreboding smirk returned. Turning from his reflection, Sephiroth walked pensively back the way he had come, stepping through the light a final time. His features flashed again, giving him an unearthly glow before he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the only the cold, silent mirror behind him to sit alone in the dark.


End file.
